


Winter Song

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, New Year's Eve, Old Dudes in Love, Secret Mutant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They manage to make time to be together on New Year's Eve 1999 into 2000.</p><p>----</p><p>for Secret Mutant 2013 </p><p>title from Sara Bareilles' "Winter Song"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [believetheblonde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/believetheblonde/gifts).



_December 30, 1999_

Erik arrived on Thursday evening. Charles felt his mind approaching from two miles away and brushed against it gently, enough to read that Erik was in a car and on his way alone. Through Erik’s perception, Charles could feel the tires of the car slipping irritatingly on the snow, could feel Erik keeping the vehicle on the road with his powers, guiding it unerringly to the cabin at the very end of the lane surrounded by white and the deep color of evergreens, isolated in the way that always comforted Erik best. He cocked his head at Charles’ mental touch, offering a whisper of acknowledgement. Charles sent back a wordless greeting and then withdrew to his own mind, smiling.

Ten minutes later, the front door opened to admit a whoosh of cold air. Charles watched as a flurry of snowflakes whirled in over the doormat, and then Erik appeared, dressed sharply in a black coat, dark trousers, and boots that he stamped in the doorway, shedding snow as he did.

“You left the door unlocked,” he said disapprovingly, without bothering to say hello. “Anyone could have come in.”

“All these years and you still doubt my ability to protect myself,” Charles sighed, closing the book in his lap and laying it onto the side table next to the arm of the couch. “Did Mystique dress you today? You’re missing your cape.”

Erik gave him a dark look. “I am perfectly capable of disguising myself.”

“I thought you’d forgotten that skill years ago,” Charles remarked. “The purple certainly hasn’t done you many favors.”

The glare remained fixed in Erik’s eyes for a long moment. Charles met his gaze evenly, having faced this glower too many times now to be intimidated by it. It hadn’t frightened him all those years ago when he had first pulled Erik from the ocean, it hadn’t frightened him when they had first settled down behind a chessboard together, and it didn’t frighten him now. He arched an eyebrow and watched as Erik softened visibly. They never did seem to be able to be cross with each other here, where it was easy to forget that they were mortal enemies as far as the public could tell, where it was easy to pretend that they led simpler lives than they had ever managed in reality.

The tension in his shoulders easing, Erik shook his head and muttered, “I didn’t come here to have you criticize my fashion choices.”

“But I have so little else to entertain me,” Charles answered wryly.

At that, Erik grinned, just a slight curling of the corners of his lips. Then he stripped off his gloves and simply stood there for a moment, studying Charles just as Charles studied him back. It had been three months since they had last been together, and all three of them had felt like eternities while Charles had been passing through them. But now they felt like a heartbeat, like it had only been yesterday that Erik had been here with him, laying kisses against his shoulders with whispers of happy birthday.

“I’m glad to see you in one piece,” Charles said finally. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

“It’s New Year’s,” Erik replied. “Half the country is sure we’re on the cusp of an apocalypse. Tomorrow everything might be consumed in hellfire and earthquakes. Where else would I be?”

He crossed the distance between them in five long strides and leaned down over Charles for a kiss. And this had always been easy: remembering the way Erik’s lips pressed against his, gentler than Erik spoke or moved, more careful than Charles had once believed Erik was capable of being. Even decades later, he still remembered that first kiss, stolen in the shadows of the hallway on the third floor of his mansion, a rush of emotion and desire like a break in a dam, frantic pulses beating drumbeats in their ears, fingers curled messily into shirtfronts and collars. Erik had kissed him then with an uncertainty that had belied his normal unshakeable confidence, with a tenderness that Charles had never seen from him before. It had been exciting and wondrous and incredible all at once, and now, over thirty years later, Erik still kissed him the same way. It made him ache.

When they parted for breath, panting slightly against each other’s lips, Charles asked with a smile, “Do you actually believe all the talk about the end of the world?”

Erik snorted dismissively. “No. But it _is_ amusing seeing the humans scramble around building bunkers and storing foods for the impending societal collapse.”

Charles laughed. That hadn’t changed at all over the years either: Erik’s disdain for humankind. At least these days, he seemed to be limiting his contempt to the same narrow-minded, intolerant bigots that Charles also disapproved of. His general scorn had refined and focused itself enough that Charles had found himself hoping in recent years that they might reach a true alliance. With how often Erik agreed to meet with him these days, a truce seemed more than possible. The thought was more heartening than Charles dared to admit.

“Humans aren’t the only ones afraid,” Charles remarked, shifting so that Erik could settle beside him on the couch. “The mansion has gained four residents in the last two weeks alone. They came to us wanting to be prepared if something happened.”

“They’re smart,” Erik said, his thoughts turning dark. “With all the hysteria going around, something might actually happen. A self-fulfilling prophecy. And if there’s chaos, there will be riots, and mutants are always the first to be hurt when there’s lawlessness in the streets.”

Charles shook his head. “It won’t happen. I admit, that Y2K computer problem is slightly worrying, but asteroids crashing into Earth? Doomsday? Highly questionable. And I’m sure law enforcement is on high alert for any disturbances. This New Year’s will be like any other.”

 _Except I’ll have you_ , he added wordlessly, watching Erik twist his gloves restlessly between his hands. The last New Year’s they had spent together was nearly six years ago now. They’d had their falling outs, their periods of stony silence. But they had always reconciled as best as two old nemeses could reconcile and now here they were, nearly closer than they had been before Cuba all those long years ago. Of course, they still fought on ostensibly opposing sides, but Erik was hardly antagonistic with him these days. Lately, his barbed words felt more like friendly jabs than true hostility. They were mellowing, Charles mused. The days of anger and bitterness were long past.

Erik reached for him, long fingers curling around the nape of his neck to draw him closer for another kiss. His thoughts sounded like _I missed you_ but neither of them commented on it.

 

*

 

Later, he sat in the kitchen buttering bread for the both of them as Erik stood by the counter, dicing vegetables by hand while stirring the soup on the stove with his powers. He’d shed his coat and extra layers, revealing a snug black turtleneck underneath. He still looked so damnably good in it, the fabric clinging to the lean lines of his body like the wetsuit he had been wearing the first time they’d met. Charles had a sneaking suspicion Erik had worn it because he knew Charles’ weakness for it, and a stolen glance through Erik’s thoughts confirmed it.  

“Get out of my head, Charles,” Erik said without looking at him, lifting the ladle of the soup for a taste.

“Sorry.” Charles smiled unrepentantly at him. They both knew that if Charles had wanted to, he could have slipped into Erik’s mind undetected. That he had chosen not to—and that Erik hadn’t worn his helmet, hadn’t brought it anywhere near the cabin—was proof enough of their good intentions.

They had dinner at the circular kitchen table, which was small enough that their knees touched when either of them scooted forward far enough. Afterwards, Charles wheeled himself out to the living room and transferred himself to the couch as Erik washed the dishes. When he was done, he came to sit next to Charles, comfortable and casual as he reached an arm around Charles’ shoulders to draw him closer. Charles leaned into him, warm and sated and content.

He opened his eyes later to darkness. The fire had dwindled to red cinders, and the drawn curtains admitted only slivers of moonlight. A twinge shot across his back as he straightened, and with a wince, he yawned and stretched painfully, his muscles protesting the strain.

Erik roused at the motion. For a second as he woke into consciousness, he stilled, his entire body one long tense line against Charles’. Then he seemed to remember where he was, and the rigidity in his shoulders ebbed away. “What time is it?”

Charles huffed. “Late. I’m getting too old to fall asleep on the couch like this.”  

“So am I,” Erik groaned as he stretched, too, his shirt pulling tight over his chest as he did. Charles unabashedly admired the view, drawing a smirk from Erik when he noticed.

“Too tired to do anything?” Erik asked.

Charles laughed. “If you’re asking for sex, you don’t have to be circumspect about it.” He reached for his wheelchair and pulled himself over to it as Erik watched. Then he jerked his head to the corridor that led to the bedroom, flashing Erik a smile. “Come to bed, and we’ll see.”

 

*

 

_December 31, 1999_

Morning found him buried in bed, covers tucked messily around him, face hidden stubbornly in the pillow to combat the brightening sunlight creeping through the window. He felt Erik get up when dawn had hardly begun, felt the lingering kiss Erik pressed to his shoulder before the bed dipped as he left it. He rode along in Erik’s mind long enough to read his intentions—coffee, perhaps some breakfast—before falling drowsily back into his own thoughts, glorying in the warmth of the bed.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he slept for, but the next thing he was aware of, Erik had returned and was trailing his fingers down Charles’ side. They made love in the golden sunlight streaming through the windows and lay tangled lazily together afterwards, Erik resting his chin lightly against Charles’ sternum, occasionally tilting his head to trail kisses across his chest. Charles tangled in his fingers in Erik’s hair and thought he could live like this forever, in a cabin steeped in peaceful domesticity with only Erik for company.

“Do you want to get up at some point,” Erik murmured after a while, “or are you going to laze in bed all day?”

“Look who’s lazing with me,” Charles replied, giving Erik’s hair a tug. With a sigh, he gently pushed Erik off his chest and sat up. “I suppose it’s past time for breakfast anyway.”

Erik slid to the edge of the bed and slipped on his shirt. “Are you hungry?”

“Not particularly. Could you pass me my shirt? It’s on the floor by your foot.”

“I’ll make some toast anyway,” Erik told him as he reached for the pile of clothes pooled beside him. He tossed Charles’ sweater at him and followed it with his trousers and shirt. As Charles pulled his shirt and sweater over his head, Erik continued to kick around for Charles’ socks and got down on his knees to root around under the bed when he came up empty.

“You don’t have to do that,” Charles said, suddenly, impossibly fond of him. Would the world be so afraid of the great Magneto if they saw him now, bending by the foot of the bed lifting up the ends of the comforter in search of a pair of wayward socks because he knew Charles’ feet got cold without either of them noticing, knew how to care for Charles like it was an instinct?

“I have extra socks in the drawer,” Charles told him, but a moment later, Erik hurled one wool sock at Charles’ face, then the other. Then he stood back up, saw the soft grin on Charles’ face, and grumbled gruffly, “I just don’t want you to spend the New Year’s with a surprise case of frostbite. Get dressed and then come eat.”

“Yes, sir.” Charles offered a sharp salute, which made Erik arch an eyebrow before padding out the door.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Erik made toast while Charles made tea, the counters of the cabin specifically designed low enough for him to reach. He still wasn’t sure whether Erik had found this cabin for sale and bought it, confiscated it from some poor fellow out in the woods, or perhaps commissioned it to be built. The doors and corridors were wide enough to accommodate the wheelchair, and everything from the shelves to the amenities in the bathroom were wheelchair-friendly. That was unusual enough that Charles had to wonder if Erik had stolen this property (because honestly, he couldn’t imagine Erik finding a realtor and _buying_ a cabin, couldn’t imagine Erik doing something so mundane) or if he’d built it himself, or at least designed it. Either way, the cabin’s accessibility spoke to a sort of thoughtfulness that sent bursts of warmth through Charles whenever he thought on it.

After they’d eaten, Erik said, “If you want to go outside for a little while, I cleared a path outside while you were sleeping earlier.”

Charles jerked his head up. “To the lake?”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “Yes, of course. Let me just get my coat.”

“And put on another sweater,” Erik called after him. “It’s cold.”

 

*

 

The first time they had come here, it had been spring. The weather had been brisk but comfortable, the bright sun negating the cold breeze. When they had first arrived, neither of them had known quite what to say, and Charles had been sure within five minutes that agreeing to meet Erik here had been a horrible mistake, and that sending Hank away with the car had been an even bigger mistake. They’d spoken since Cuba, of course, but this was different. This was personal.

Erik had paced restlessly from living room to the kitchen and back, his mind a whirl of uncertainty and frustration. Charles had sat perfectly still next to the coffee table, watching him move, wondering if it was too early in their recently patched-up relationship to reach for Erik’s mind. The prickly silence had stretched on and on, until finally Charles had offered, “I saw a path through the woods on the way here. Do you want to explore it a little?” and Erik had nodded in clear relief.

He had proceeded to spend the next hour watching as Charles arduously pushed himself over the rocky path, sometimes getting mired in leftover mud from a recent rainstorm, sometimes pausing for minutes at a time for breath. He had moved to push the chair, but Charles had snapped furiously at him to _stay away_ , angry at himself and at Erik and at this whole damnable situation. It had taken another half hour for them to finally reach a bend in the path that led to a calm, quiet lake, and then they had remained there in stony silence for another few minutes until Charles irritably turned around and headed back.

The lake today was frozen over and glittering with snow. True to his word, Erik had carefully cleared the path nearly half a mile, likely with the metal shovel in the shed next to the cabin. They made their slow way through the trees, Charles pushing steadily but unhurriedly. He had nothing to prove now, and Erik didn’t think once about moving to help without Charles’ explicit permission. The silence that lay between them was comfortable and warm.

“Mystique asked after you,” Erik said once they had reached the shore, Charles parking his chair just above the slope.

Charles rubbed his gloved hands together. “And after Kurt as well, I imagine.”

Erik glanced at him. “Naturally.”  

“Of course. You know, she could have come, too. Here, I mean, to see me. I would have met her gladly.”

Erik radiated displeasure. _Not here,_ he thought, loud enough for Charles to hear. _This is ours._

Charles harrumphed. He wanted to quip, _Possessiveness hardly suits you, my friend,_ but that was a lie; possessiveness suited Erik entirely. Instead, he said, “She should come by the mansion more often. She’d make a better mother than she thinks.”

“She understands why she had to leave Kurt with you. The life we lead is not one for a child. But still, she has her regrets.”

“Naturally,” Charles parroted. His fingers were stiff from pushing his chair so he tucked them under his arms to try to warm them up. “Like I said, she’s welcome to visit. In a peaceful capacity, of course. I would never try to keep her from her son. And Kurt could do with his mother in his life.”

Erik nodded. “I’ll let her know.”

After a moment, he reached down and tugged at Charles’ arm until Charles allowed him to draw his hand out. Then he laced their fingers together and tucked both hands into the relative warmth of his jacket pocket.

Sometimes Erik could be so kind it hurt.

 

*

 

The cabin was stocked with a chessboard, books, playing cards, an enormously comfortable bed, and alcohol. It was perfect, really, at any time of year, and especially now in the cold onset of winter.

Erik was by nature restless, but there was something about this cabin that calmed his constant energy and made him willing to climb into bed with Charles at three in the afternoon while there was still plenty of daylight to waste, glasses of wine in their hands and the chessboard laid out on the covers. They played one game, got up to fetch more wine, and then played a second. Halfway through the third, Erik reached across the board and dragged Charles in for a kiss, effectively scattering the metal pieces and the strategy Charles had been building in his mind.

Afterwards, slightly sweaty and thoroughly sated, Charles muttered, “You only did that because you were losing,” and Erik smiled but said nothing. He only lifted his hand to float the white and black kings and spun them idly through the air.

 

*

 

He woke before Erik this time and quietly left the room to make dinner. He turned on the TV as he worked, its volume switched down low. The news programs ran countdowns and brought on supposedly-respectable guests to address the public about the possibility of an apocalypse, about the importance of remaining calm in the event of any emergency. Charles watched it all with silent amusement and tried to remember how much sauce he ought to use for two portions of pasta.

He felt Erik’s mind stir eventually, and a few minutes later, Erik himself appeared at the threshold of the kitchen, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Perfect timing,” Charles told him, switching off the stove. “Fetch a couple of plates please.”

As Erik complied, Charles dug out silverware from the drawer beside the stove and retrieved glasses from one of the cupboards. When Erik moved to dole out the pasta into equal shares, Charles noted with some satisfaction that he’d guessed the amount of sauce necessary perfectly.  

“Your cooking has improved,” Erik remarked, spinning pasta onto his fork as they settled on the couch in front of the television.

Charles laughed. “Considering the fact that my culinary skills used to extend only to making hard-boiled eggs, that isn’t much of a compliment.”

“Considering the fact that I’m no longer afraid of being inadvertently poisoned every time you create something in the kitchen, I’d say it is.”

Charles scoffed. “I was never that bad.” At Erik’s skeptical look, he conceded, “All right, I was once that bad. But that was a long time ago.”

“Five years ago, at the most.”

“A _long_ time ago.”

“If I’m being truly generous, three.”

“Eat your dinner,” Charles groused. “If you don’t want me to judge the color schemes of your costumes, then you won’t judge the caliber of my cooking.”

“It’s a _uniform_ , not a costume,” Erik muttered, but he finished the pasta without further comment.

They lounged together on the couch afterwards, arguing about the literary merit of Orwell’s _1984_ until Erik simply got frustrated and turned up the volume on the television loud enough to drown out the conversation. _You are such a child,_ Charles thought at him, but he couldn’t stay peeved when Erik snapped indignantly, “I am _not_ ,” looking as if he might be on the verge of a tantrum. When he started to laugh, Erik glared at him, annoyance flashing across the surface of his mind like splintered lightning. When they had been younger and more temperamental, Erik would have gotten up and stalked away. But now there was a lingering current of exasperated affection curled along Erik’s irritation, and before Charles could stop him, he surged across the couch to kiss the laugh out of Charles’ mouth, pressing him down onto his back until Charles gasped for air.

 _I should have learned to do this years ago,_ Erik thought at him as he pulled Charles’ legs up onto the couch so that they could lie comfortably together.

 _What?_ Charles teased, pulling Erik closer with a yank at his collar. _Kiss properly?_

“Learned to shut you up properly,” Erik panted, breaking apart to breathe. “But clearly you don’t _ever_ shut up.”

Charles grinned. “What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

Erik pressed their lips back together with a growl. _I am going to ruin that pretty voice of yours._  

And he did, rutting slowly against him until Charles begged him to go faster, licking at Charles’ nipples and belly and the lobe of his ear until he could do nothing more than gasp wetly into Erik’s shoulder, his entire body awash with sensation from Erik’s clever fingers and cleverer tongue, Erik’s own pleasure rebounding into his mind and drowning him in a flood of hazy delight. When Erik came, his cock rubbing slickly against Charles’ hip, they shuddered together, so closely intertwined in mind and body in that moment that Charles wasn’t sure if it was he or Erik who breathed, “I love you,” in between their harsh breaths, or if it had been both of them. It didn’t matter either way because in the minutes of recovery afterwards, when their minds were thrown open and raw and unhidden from each other, the sentiment that rippled between them was unmistakable.

Eventually, they remembered the television in time to catch the countdown of the last five minutes of 1999. As the clock ticked ever closer to the new millennium, Charles murmured, “If the world ends, at least I won’t ever have to look on that eyesore of a cape of yours ever again.”

“The world had better not end,” Erik retorted, “or else that means that my last meal will be your soggy pasta.”

“It was _not_ soggy.”

“It was more than a little soggy.”

“You’re lucky you’re good in bed,” Charles grumbled, and then grinned when Erik rolled his hips suggestively.

“That’s all I keep you around for, too,” Erik said archly.

“Oh, is that so?”

The challenge in his gaze made Erik pause for a moment. “ _Mostly_ so.”

“And here I thought I was decent company,” Charles lamented. “When we’re not busy sabotaging each other’s operations, I imagine we’re good friends. Admittedly, a large part of your appeal is aesthetic, given that your personality leaves quite a lot to be desired—though your blinding helmet _does_ significantly diminish that appeal—”

Erik cut him off with a kiss so enthusiastic that they toppled off the narrow couch in a tangled heap of limbs. As soon as he had recovered from the shock of impact, Charles began to laugh breathlessly, and, once he was reassured that Charles was unhurt, Erik joined him, chuckling helplessly into the hollow of Charles’ throat.

It wasn’t until later that they realized they had missed the dawn of the new age giggling like two old fools on the floor, but neither of them could bring himself to care very much.

The bed, after all, was much more interesting.  


End file.
